


Forgetting is so long

by Jean____Ralphio



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, PWP, ansgt, at least it started as pwp, the MCD is all the canon deaths i'm sorry, then it got sad, very very very angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:02:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29876715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jean____Ralphio/pseuds/Jean____Ralphio
Summary: Pac Rim from Herc's perspective, featuring his crush on Stacker, his arguments with his shit of a son, and how he tries to navigate the 72 hours before he loses it all.I'll be honest, this is just canon Pac Rim but including the sex WE KNOW was happening between team hot dads. That's it, that's the fic.
Relationships: Hercules Hansen/Stacker Pentecost
Kudos: 3





	Forgetting is so long

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, yes, hi.  
> This fic was born when I watched Pac Rim for the billionth time and couldn't get over how perfect a couple team hot dads would have made. WE WERE ROBBED.  
> So this is 1/4 fix-it fic, 1/4 pwp, 1/4 angst because I have a lot of feelings about Herc Hansen and what an incredible job Max Martini did with his character, and 1/4 what we freaking should have gotten to see, I'm just saying.  
> Thank you to my betas, as always espec to my parabatai @whosthathufflepuff.  
> Title is probably from an agsty poem, as usual, I think it was Pablo Neruda this time.

Battered by driving rain and buffeted by strong winds, the chopper is damn near flying on its side when Herc first spots the city lights of Anchorage. The pilot is having a hell of a rough time, and Herc tries not to pass judgement from his seat at the rear, really, he does… but honestly, all the guy needed to do was a relatively basic manoeuvre to drop under the headwind…

Rubbing at his eyes, which sting from tiredness, Herc pointedly looks away from the cockpit, and tries to spot the Anchorage shatterdome instead. He’s exhausted enough that an aneurysm from the stress of watching the pilot wrestle with the stick may finish him off once and for all, forget the bloody Kaiju.

Chuck would probably see to it he had a decent burial, after he stopped laughing. That was a vague comfort.

When they set down (too hard, the chopper rocking precariously on her runners because the pilot should have approached from the north-north-west…), Herc is on his feet and at the door as quick as he can.

The Icebox – the Anchorage shatterdome – looms before him in the darkness, dreary and grey, lit by spotlights of cold white.

Herc isn’t even fully out of the chopper when Tendo Choi’s already bounding into his space, slick hair wet and clothes soaked through.

“Hercules! How are you this fine morning?”

It’s night-time, and raining, but Tendo always was a weird little wanker. Herc returns the hug with one arm as he hurries them both away from the rotor blades.

Tendo’s unconcerned, shakes himself off like a dog once they’re under cover and bounces about on the balls of his feet as he leads the way into the dome.

“I’ll show you the visitor quarters, but don’t get comfy. Boss-man wants you ASAP.”

“Yeah, got it.”

A maze of hallways, a small room with a single bed for Herc to throw his jacket and duffle bag onto, a wardrobe to hang his dress blues in, a cramped ensuite to wash his face and hands, and they’re off again, Tendo chattering away, his voice echoing off the walls.

It’s quiet, Tendo’s blabbering aside. Not many people about, boxes and crates lining the hallways. Not a good sign. Herc hasn’t been to this dome in a few years – works more frequently with Hong Kong and Lima due to geographic coverage – but he’s surprised at how empty the place is looking.

Tendo taps on a door and swings it open at Stacker’s call to enter, shooting Herc a tense smile before he departs.

It occurs to Herc too late that Tendo had been nervous.

Steeling himself for whatever the heck is about to happen next, Herc steps into the room.

His own tension dissipates as Stacker’s impassive face is overcome with a smile, as he stands up from behind his desk and crosses the room to Herc.

Fuck, Herc had almost managed to let himself forget how bloody fit Stacker is; the rolled-up shirtsleeves and unbuttoned collar are a gut-punching reminder. Herc lets his gaze dart around the room, pretending to take it in as Stacker draws near, in lieu of staring too openly at the exposed skin of his throat, which he has the overwhelming urge to taste.

“Mate, it’s good to see you!”

“Herc,” Stacker greets him with a firm handshake and claps his shoulder, his eyes warm.

Herc smiles back, letting Stacker draw him over to his desk, with its neat piles of papers and files illuminated by yellow lamp light.

As his friend moves away to resume his seat, Herc is hit with an involuntary shiver, the cold air of the room raising goosebumps on his skin now that Stacker’s body heat isn’t so close.

“Cor, it’s freezing it here!”

“Is it? I hadn’t noticed.” Stacker’s eyes seem to fix on Herc’s chest as he sits back down. “Alaska is very cold.”

“Yeah, no joke! And you called me out to this chunk of ice for…?”

“The decision about the Jaeger programme has been made by the UN.”

Herc sits down too, waiting for him to continue, but Stacker doesn’t.

Oh.

Fuck.

The boxes in the hallway.

“It’s not good, then?”

“Not good. I already know they’ll proceed with shutting the Icebox down, and likely most of the other domes too. What additional funding I have succeeded in wrangling from them remains to be seen. As one of the last Jaeger pilots… and my only friend… I… I hope you don’t mind, but I wanted you here with me.”

Touched, Herc smiles at him, willing down his disappointment at the news. No wonder Stacker had asked him to bring his blues. But his friend must have been having a hard enough time without having to absorb any of Herc’s anger or fear, too.

“’Course I don’t mind, mate. When have I ever not come when you called?”

Stacker’s smile, rare thing of beauty that it is, is genuine and gentle.

“I appreciate it very much, Herc.”

Herc leans across the desk to give his wrist a squeeze, then nods ascension when Stacker jerks a questioning thumb at a bottle of what looked like whiskey on his sideboard.

“What time is the conference?”

“0800. You should rest up while you can,” Stacker replies, as he pours them a drink.

“Will do. But first I’m gonna go find that chopper pilot. Rookie could use more than a few pointers.”

Stacker shakes his head with a laugh as he hands Herc his glass. “Please don’t terrorise my staff too badly!”

“Not gonna,” Herc insists, tapping their glasses together in a cheers before he takes a sip. “Friendly chat, is all.”

Stacker’s laughs again as he drops back into his seat and leans back, sounding almost surprised, like he hasn’t done it in a while.

*

Five hours later and Herc is standing to attention behind Stacker, looking as polished as the buttons of his blues, even though he’s running on three hours sleep and a tiny bit hungover.

Herc had even shaved, reluctantly, sure, but he’d do every little bit that he could to help Stacker try and impress the talking heads.

When he’d spotted him at breakfast, Stacker had leaned across the table they’d shared, a hand outstretched as if to touch Herc’s cheek.

“Haven’t seen you clean-shaven in… ever, I don’t think.”

“I hate it,” Herc replied. “Don’t get used to it.”

“The stubbled look does suit you, but…”

“But?” Herc prompted, not sure why his stomach dipped. He took a bite of overcooked eggs to hide the fluttering pulse that must be visibly thrumming in his throat. “I feel naked, these suited pricks better make it worth it.”

Stacker didn’t reply, just let his hand drop.

“You did it to impress them?”

Herc scoffed, “Did it for you, mate. Whatever makes us look polished, professional… as though I give a shit about what they say, which, for the record, I fuckin’ don’t… “

Stacker had laughed over his coffee mug, but half an hour later any trace of joviality is long gone.

“Those are _my_ rangers that die every time a Jaeger falls!”

Herc can hear the tremor of pain in Stacker’s voice, make out his barely concealed contempt for the faces on the screen, but if the suits themselves notice, or care, they don’t let on. The men and women who’ve made this decision have never set foot in a Shatterdome, let alone in a Jaeger. They’ve never suited up, mind-melded with another person, gone to war in a goliath…

Herc keeps his shoulders square, his chest out, forces himself to be controlled as the blow is delivered. Stacker’s agitation is obvious even though Herc can’t see his face. So right now, he needs Herc to maintain the decorum he’s losing.

Eight months. God.

The call ends, the verdict unshakeable.

Tendo is worried. Herc is pissed. Stacker is deadly calm.

“We don’t need ‘em,” Stacker whispers to them, eyes determined. Herc’s never felt so proud, except for whenever he looked at Chuck.

Slowly, Stacker’s eyes lift to him, and firm hands reach to clasp Herc’s biceps.

“I’ve got a plan. It’s not the end yet. Get back to Sydney. Get your lad and Striker Eureka to the Hong Kong shatterdome as quickly as you can.”

“On it,” Herc promises, giving his shoulder a squeeze in return before he starts towards the door. Tendo hurries on ahead to call for the chopper to be readied.

“Herc?”

Already at the door, he pauses to look back into Stacker’s eyes.

“As quickly as you can. Please. I need you with me as soon as possible.”

“Does that mean I can pilot the chopper?”

“Absolutely it does,” Stacker agrees, managing a small smile.

Herc lets the memory of that tremulous smile warm him fifteen minutes later, when he’s jogging across icy tarmac to the chopper and trying not to feel like they’ve already lost.

*

24 hours later and Herc’s in Hong Kong’s Jaeger bay, relieving his tension by giving his son a clip around the ear, because the little shit won’t stop mouthing off.

Chuck’s still in his drivesuit, and he’s annoyed, as per usual. Herc had given up years ago trying to figure out the source of his son’s moodiness at any given time; it could be anything, someone looking at him the wrong way, some imagined grievance Herc had committed against him years ago, the fact that the mess was out of his favourite yogurt…

Chuck and sulking went hand in hand.

For all its beauty as a city, the humidity in Hong Kong is bloody awful. Herc had ditched his drivesuit immediately, the pieces scattered haphazard on the trolley before him, desperate for aircon on his heated skin.

“Herc! Chuck!”

At Stacker’s cry, Herc turns, clocking Raleigh Becket immediately. Rage starts to roll off Chuck in a way that’s almost palpable, meaning he’s spotted his former hero too.

Herc would never forget Chuck’s tears at the fall of Gypsy Danger and the Beckets, his heart broken by what he had perceived as betrayal and abandonment when his heroes had failed to do their duty.

“Wait here!” Herc growls to his son, not wanting to deal with another temper tantrum today. Chuck has already had five.

He focuses instead on Stacker, who looks as sexy as ever striding towards him, but he covers just how keen his interest is with a joke, letting Max take attention away as he trots over to Miss Mori. He does throw Stacker a smirk in greeting before he’s properly re-introduced to Raleigh.

The boy’s no longer the same fresh-faced 21-year-old who Herc had dropped into Manila with six years ago. Chuck is 21 now too, all anger and arrogance. Raleigh at 21 had been... just… young. Excited, fierce, proud to pilot alongside his brother. Herc had been proud to fight alongside Scott, too, back then.

But now Yancy is gone. Scott is gone. Lucky Seven is gone. A lot has changed.

Stacker seems to relax in Herc’s presence, even reverting to slang, which makes Herc smile. He’ll help his friend in any way he can, even if Stacker doesn’t notice it.

Once Stacker has briefed Raleigh, albeit in a very round-about way, he leads Herc from the bay. They’ve got a lot of plans and preparation to go over, and it constantly feels like they’re running short on time.

“Couldn’t give the kid a little more detail?” Herc asks, as he trails Stacker down the hall.

“Nup,” Stacker smirks over his shoulder at him, looking far too proud of himself, taking the turn that will lead them to the laboratories.

The two scientists they waste the next fifteen minutes on are more annoying than Chuck, and that’s bloody saying something. The elder of the two is far too prim, and the younger pipsqueak is exceptionally irritating.

Herc runs out of patience with them after one minute, barks that they get to the point as they blather on and snip at each other; Stacker doesn’t have time to waste.

The maths makes his head hurt, and, God, drifting with a Kaiju?! These guys might be experts, far more educated and intelligent than Herc would ever want to be, but their lack of actual experience with what it took to fight Kaiju, let alone defeat them, was painfully clear.

Herc’s only too pleased to finally leave them to their weird version of flirting, as he and Stacker depart.

Happily, he spends the rest of the afternoon in Stacker’s office, where they firstly hash out a detailed plan for the mission, then later share a bottle of spiced rum and talk about the old days.

As the humidity reaches its peak, Stacker cranks up his air-con, rolls up his sleeves, takes off his tie and unbuttons his shirt a little. Herc tries not to drool as he sprawls out on Stacker’s couch, after pouring them both a third drink. Stacker throws open the door to his balcony and drops down next to him.

“Heck of a view,” Herc offers, gesturing with his glass to the sky, which is streaking orange and purple on the horizon as the sun begins to set.

“It is.” Stacker’s voice is warm, and Herc closes his eyes against the little flush of pleasure it sends through him just to hear it. “Sunsets always remind me of Tam.”

“Hm? Yeah. I can see that.”

They lapse into silence again, and Herc must doze off, more tired than he let himself realise by the scramble to get back to Sydney from Anchorage, then the quick pack up and relocation to Hong Kong. When he next opens his eyes, the room is in darkness and he’s slumped against Stacker, who has a warm arm draped around his shoulders.

Herc doesn’t want to move, is far too comfortable, so for a while he lets Stacker sleep and watches the neon lights of Hong Kong reflect on the water of the Bay.

How much later Herc doesn’t know, Stacker finally stirs, his cheek brushing over Herc’s hair, breath ghosting his neck.

“Think we missed dinner?”

“Probably,” Herc concedes, still not interested in moving.

To his disappointment, Stacker yawns and sits up, eventually rousing himself to stand. Herc refuses to follow, and instead curls up on the couch in the remnants of his body heat.

He just has time to hear Stacker’s low chuckle before he falls back to sleep.

*

God Chuck is a little wanker sometimes.

Most of the time.

He’d bitched Herc out incessantly all morning during their gym session, and still wasn’t shutting up even in the mess hall.

Herc tenses, freezes, as his son slanders Gypsy, all angry eyes, and spewing words of hatred. Next to him, Raleigh too is very still.

Rust-bucket? God, the Becket boys were heroes, had been _Chuck’s_ heroes. Who was his shit of a kid trying to impress?

Herc toys with his food, sighing, as Chuck winds himself up for his usual rant. He was so bloody _embarrassing_ sometimes.

Once his shit of a son has finally stormed off, Herc apologizes to Raleigh as best he can. He doesn’t blame the young man in the slightest when he infers Chuck needs a kick up the ass. He’s not wrong. Maybe Raleigh ought to be the one to deliver it.

*

Later that afternoon in LOCCENT command, Herc’s fiddling nervously with his ring as Stacker radiates tension next to him. The Drift looks good between Raleigh and Mako, though – surprising, for strangers who lacked any initial familial or friendly bond.

Then the weird mathematician is scurrying in because his little boyfriend Drifted with a Kaiju after all, and Stacker is torn.

“I’ll keep an eye on them,” Herc tells him, giving his wrist a squeeze and gesturing towards Gypsy. “You go sort out Dumb and Dumber.”

A few minutes later Chuck shows up, too scared of Stacker to have put in appearance before now. Herc’s shit of a son is as mouthy and rude as ever, and Herc snaps at him to knock it off. Chuck’s so _embarrassing_ sometimes.

It wasn’t like Chuck could do what Raleigh had done in the immediate aftermath of Yancy’s death. Herc bloody couldn’t. Piloting alone through the grief, the fear… the thought chills Herc, and Chuck must feel it cos he shuts up, cowed. Kind of.

Up until the shit hits the fan and Tendo is scrambling trying to help the Drifters, as Raleigh begs Mako to leave the memory and return to him. When the plasma cannon starts charging, it’s clear his pleading hasn’t worked.

Herc slaps every button he can see that looks as though it may cut the power, as Tendo yells for his LOCCENT team to get to safety.

Then Stacker is there, barking orders in a way that really shouldn’t have such a physical impact on Herc, but what can you do?

Unfortunately, he doesn’t get to enjoy how sexy Stacker looks when he’s riled, doesn’t get to wonder if he’s this commanding in bed, because his shit of a son gives everyone about five seconds to calm down before he kicks off.

Chuck is livid, although the tantrum waits until they’re sequestered in Stacker’s office, but oh once they’re there, does Chuck let loose.

He’s so _embarrassing_.

For the life of him, Herc can’t get the little shit to shut up, but he does give him a good shove in the direction of the door.

“-MY bomb run, Sir!” Chuck’s red-faced and charging out into the hall, which is good because Herc’s about ready to kick him out.

He snaps at the boy to wait, to give him a moment, and Chuck’s irate face tells him he doesn’t have a lot of time. Mako is upset; Raleigh is defiant, and Herc knows it won’t take Chuck long to exploit those emotions.

Shutting the door, he crosses quickly to where Stacker is leaning against his desk, looking exhausted.

“Fuckin’ prick of a kid…”

Without thinking too hard about it, Herc reaches out and winds his arms around Stacker. His friend’s head drops down immediately to rest against his chest, arms sliding around Herc’s waist as he lets out a weary groan.

“I knew it. I knew it was a bad idea to let her...”

Herc just sighs, as he hears his shit of a son start to kick off outside.

“They synced up really well, at first…”

“We all were almost… Herc, _you_ were almost killed! The plasma cannon was pointed right at you, and Chuck and Tendo!” Stacker turns his face into Herc’s shoulder, sounding wrecked.

“First Drifts are like that. And when am I not always being almost killed, I pilot a fuckin’ Jaeger, Stack.”

Chuck’s pained roar of rage reaches Herc’s Chuck’s-rage-roar-trained ears, and he sighs again, letting his hands slip from Stacker’s shoulders.

If his shit of a son is hurt, it’s almost definitely because he bloody deserves it.

Outside, Mako’s got her fists clenched, and Raleigh and Chuck are on the floor… what weird sort of flirting are they up to now?

Oh.

They’re fighting.

This time with submission style wrestling moves; Raleigh’s legs are wrapped around Chuck, and Herc’s kid is on his stomach with his arm twisted up at a painful angle.

The Raleigh Becket Herc knew would never attack someone unprovoked. Herc’s shit of a son, on the other hand, absolutely would.

All the same, they don’t have time for this crap, and Herc barks at them both to get on their feet.

Chuck’s face is bloody and he’s livid, Herc feels it steaming from him, rolling and boiling. He’s not sure if it’s the residual Drift making him aware, or his own shitty paternal instincts, but what else is new?

He moves to intercept his son before Chuck even starts towards Raleigh and shoves him back when he tries for another go. Chuck’s anger stays just as red-hot as he looks into his father’s eyes, his hatred for Raleigh not appeased in the slightest, because he hates Herc that much too.

Herc knows. God, does Herc know.

Chuck gets it all from Herc, after all.

As his son storms away, Herc turns back to trade a long look with Stacker, but they’re unable to offer each other any comfort.

*

One more argument with his son and a tense evening meal later, Herc is heart-sore and tired, and heading to debrief Stacker. He finds the boss asleep, slumped on his desk with his head pillowed on his arms.

“Oh, mate,” Herc murmurs, snapping the door shut and going to Stacker, laying a hand on the hard muscle of his shoulder. “Mate…”

He gives Stacker a gentle shake and his friend rouses almost immediately, eyes flying open. Herc lays both hands on him to keep him in his seat as Stacker reflexively tries to stand.

“Hey, it’s OK, it’s OK.”

“What’s happened? Herc? Movement in the breach? Where is Mako?”

“Nothing’s happened. You just missed dinner, so I thought I’d check up on you. No movement in the breach yet. Everything’s fine.”

Stacker sags a little in relief and Herc can’t help but try to ease the tension in his shoulders, kneads at the tight muscles with his fingers.

“I looked for you at your quarters, earlier. Couldn’t find you.”

“Was down in the Jaeger bay, trying to talk some sense into that shit of a sprog of mine. His pulling Becket’s hair isn’t going to end well, at this rate.”

Stacker almost smiles, but his mouth seems too tired to commit to it.

“You need to take better care of yourself, Stack,” Herc tells him, trying to keep his tone gentle. “You’re knackered, you hardly eat, you’re tense as one thing… you’re no use to the Shatterdome run off your feet and on the last dregs of your energy, mate.”

“I know.” It’s a mark of how tired Stacker is that he sinks back into Herc’s hands little, accepting the crappy attempt at a massage, rather than trying to wave him away and pull up his veneer of control.

“We need you fit and healthy. I need you fit and healthy, ‘cos I really don’t want the command of this place. Want you around for many years yet, mate.”

“As many years as the cancer allows, you mean.”

Herc sighs. They don’t talk about it often, not since Stacker had called him after the diagnosis all those years back, so scared he’d been practically silent. And Tam… that wound would always sting.

“I’ll take what I can get,” Herc says instead. “As long as you make someone else your successor. Hell, make it my shit of a boy. He’ll _hate_ us for it, it will be great.”

Stacker huffs a laugh, and one hand comes up to touch Herc’s, not stopping his movements, just sweeping fingertips over the back of his knuckles.

“I’ll try to take better care. Thank you, Herc.”

Herc gives his shoulders one last squeeze, working his thumbs in, only letting up when Stacker emits a rather sweet noise of relief in response. Then he pats at the hard muscle and steps away before he loses the last shreds of his decency and starts trying to find out if Stacker is that firm all over.

“I’ll send a runner up with some food. Promise me now that you’ll eat, or else I’ll make Chuck come and whinge at you until he’s blue in the face. It’s his best skill.”

Stacker actually smiles, his eyes fond. “Noted. I’ll eat. Promise.”

“Night, mate.”

“Goodnight, Herc.”

*

The cold shower doesn’t help enough, and an hour later Herc’s still pacing his room, both trying to avoid going to bed and aching to, all at once.

He shouldn’t have crossed that line, shouldn’t have let himself put his hands upon Stacker’s body, because now that he had he was lost. But Stacker had felt so fucking good, all firm tight muscle, God…

Defeated, Herc stumbles to his bed, hand already down his boxers, needing relief so sharply that he cries out in delight as soon as he touches himself.

Stacker’s fucking _shoulders_ … how would they look bare? How would they feel bracing Herc’s thighs or under his hands once more if he were to cling to them as he pressed inside?

Guilt nearly kills his erection, and he rolls over on his sheets, torn, as shame starts to churn his stomach. Stacker is his friend, his friend who trusts him, who confides in him, who relies on him. And here Herc is, about to betray all that because he’s rock-hard with needing to wank to thoughts of Stacker’s gorgeous body, that little noise of pleasure he’d made as Herc had touched him, what other noises he might make…

A tap on his door wrecks his fun entirely, and Herc sighs before he clambers up. Whatever his shit of a son wants now, Herc’s going to kick his whiny ass.

He’s still half-hard, so he keeps his waist behind the door as he cracks it open.

To his surprise, it’s Stacker, still in his blue suit. He looks a little surprised in turn to see Herc, who realises too late he’s probably looking a bit flushed and dishevelled. Just gazing at his friend leads the guilt to sever any lingering desire nipping through Herc’s bloodstream.

“I’m disturbing you. You were sleeping?” Stacker’s eyes flick from Herc to his rumpled bedsheets visible through the doorway.

“Nah,” Herc shifts aside to let him in, not about to volunteer what he had been doing instead. Stacker’s already moving to Herc’s dresser, where he produces and sets down a bottle of whiskey.

“I can’t seem to shut my brain off. And I wanted to thank you. For earlier.” Stacker seems to take a shuddered breath – maybe he needed a pill? – then glances over at Herc, who’s still stood in nothing but his boxers.

“A bottle of whiskey? In return for a-minute-long massage? Christ, mate, you deserve the full body treatment for that at least.”

Stacker lifts his eyes from Herc’s bare chest – what was he always looking at? – and blinks at him.

“You’d do that?”

“Wait, what? You… want me to? Yes, I mean, if you wanted it. Of course.”

“OK. Yes, please, if you wouldn’t mind? It helped me, earlier. A lot.”

“It did? I… sure, yeah.”

They stare at each other for a moment, before Herc gestures futilely to his bed, the only space for Stacker to have enough room to stretch out. Being a senior ranger meant a double bed, at least.

He looks away as Stacker starts to remove his jacket, and goes to the bottle, pulling glasses from the shelf above and pouring them both a healthy measure of whiskey each. He shoots his own glass back, pours another, and by the time he’s turned back to Stacker, his friend is shirtless and sitting on the bed undoing his shoelaces.

Oh. Fuck.

Herc swallows very hard at the broad, muscular chest on display. The room suddenly feels too warm, and very airless. He finishes his second mouthful of whiskey.

To cover his blatant staring, he hands Stacker his drink, and tries not to watch his long fingers wrap around the glass.

“Bottoms up.” Stacker smirks a little, knocks it back.

Herc doesn’t know if he’s allowed to laugh, so he shoots his whiskey too, then gathers his courage and puts the glasses out of harm’s way, gesturing for Stacker to get comfortable.

Watching him settle himself on his front on Herc’s bed… why was there no _air_ in this damn room?

Once Stacker’s arranged on his bed, Herc moves to kneel next to him and hopes the scent of the little bit of playtime he’d been having earlier wasn’t still lingering on the sheets.

“Got nothing to use as oil, mate,” he murmurs apologetically, gazing down at the taut muscle of Stacker’s back and biting helplessly at his bottom lip.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Dry is fine.”

“Said no one, ever,” Herc laughs, and Stacker chuckles too.

“Anything is better than carrying on the way I am. I… I need this. I need to relax. Herc, please, will you help me?”

“Course…” Herc murmurs, stunned at the neediness of his tone. “Anything you want.”

Breathing out slowly, he runs his hands up Stacker’s back and starts at his shoulders, kneading the muscles until Stacker goes a bit pliant in his sheets. By the time he’s worked his way down to the middle of his back, Stacker is moaning very softly into his pillow. When Herc digs his thumbs into his lower back, Stacker flat out whines.

“I know, yeah, I know,” Herc all but croons to him. “Just relax, mate.”

“There,” Stacker whimpers, as Herc works a tightly corded muscle at the base of his spine. “That spot right there, ah! Please, Herc!”

“I got you, mate. I know. I got you, just relax.”

“Please!” Stacker wails again, sounding close to tears, and Herc mumbles ‘yeah’ again, and before he can stop himself, he’s dropped his forehead between Stacker’s shoulder blades, needing to comfort him.

Stacker’s helpless moans were music to his ears, his writhing against the bed was beyond hot and Herc’s cock was on its merry way to complete betrayal.

“Shhh, shhh, shhh,” he tries to soothe, as Stacker lets out another high whine.

“Herc!” There’s urgency in Stacker’s tone, and Herc keeps working his thumbs in, pressing hard to try and loosen the muscle.

“Just relax, babe. Just relax.”

“Oh God, Herc!” Stacker’s body goes boneless against the sheets, voice tight, and Herc eases up, sweeping his palms all over his skin.

“Any better?”

“So much better…”

Stacker doesn’t seem to have noticed the term of endearment that had slipped out of Herc’s mouth, any more than he was aware of how Herc’s eyes are drinking in all his taut muscle, his gorgeous dark skin, his firm ass in his trousers…

Fuck.

Herc’s hard again, and he needs to get up before Stacker sees, but for the life of him he can’t seem to stop rubbing his hands up and down his back, pressing fingertips into his spine just to make him moan a little more.

He’s so lost in enjoying freedom to touch that when Stacker suddenly rolls onto his side it’s a surprise, and Herc’s hand slides accidently from his back to his hip.

Oh.

Oh.

Herc’s not the only one hard.

“Oh,” he just has time to breathe, before Stacker cups his jaw and kisses him, his tongue a gentle press.

“Oh, shit,” Herc gasps, then he’s winding his arms around Stacker’s neck, pressing himself to that fucking _chest_. “Oh, shit, yes...”

Stacker makes a little hum of pleasure against his lips before he’s kissing him harder, mouth almost indecently soft. Herc moans into it, unable to stop, only too eager to follow as Stacker leans back and pulls Herc down on top of him.

Panting into his neck, Herc whimpers a little in delight as he strokes all the skin that he can get his hands on, chest, neck, down to Stacker’s fucking cut abs and hips, and Stacker groans into his ear in response, then yanks Herc’s head up to keep kissing him.

Needing more contact, Herc climbs up to straddle his hips, but before he can lean down again there’s long fingers sliding up chest, squeezing a little at the muscle before Stacker starts rubbing his nipples.

Surprised, Herc bites out a moan, glancing down at the sight before looking at Stacker, feeling his cheeks flush.

Stacker’s gaze is hungry with desire, and Herc whines again as his nipples begin to stiffen.

“Ah, babe… oh, God! That’s…”

“You like that? Wanted this for so long, Herc.”

“Yeah…” Herc rocks into the touch, looking down to watch again as Stacker starts to tug gently. “Yeah… Oh God…”

“Good. Even more responsive than I hoped,” Stacker leans up to kiss his neck, across his collarbone, then bites his way down Herc’s right pec until he’s taking his nipple between his teeth, while his thumb circles over the left.

Herc mewls, the sensations shooting down to his cock, and cups the back of Stacker’s head with both hands to hold him there.

“Oh fuck! Babe!”

Stacker just moans around it, then licks a wet path across to the other, flicking his tongue over it light and quick.

“Ah! Stacker, oh, shit,” Herc begins to squirm against him, rolling his tented erection helplessly against Stacker’s abs, breath coming hard.

Stacker smirks, reaches down to help Herc’s cock free by sliding his boxers down, then goes back to rubbing his nipples.

“I have a confession,” Stacker murmurs to him, when he finally decides to take pity and stops teasing, leaving both pink buds hard and wet.

“Wazzat?” Herc asks hazily, feeling dizzy from the pleasure, bracing himself on Stacker’s shoulders.

“If I know you’re coming to my office, I turn the aircon up.”

“Wha- why?”

“Cos I love all those tight shirts you wear. And when it’s very cold I can see these sweet nipples through the material.”

“You kinky… God, how much bloody time have we been wasting!” Herc gasps out, brushing a thumb over Stacker’s bottom lip and kissing him again.

Stacker responds with a growl, grabbing Herc’s hips so hard that it must bruise, and fuck, if that isn’t even more of a turn on.

“You feel so good. So, so good,” Herc whispers to him, grinding down onto the erection still trapped in Stacker’s trousers.

“You feel amazing too.” Those hands are everywhere, stroking Herc’s shoulders, brushing over his nipples, trailing down his abdomen before finally dropping to tease his cock. Herc ruts down harder, pressing against Stacker’s cock with every helpless thrust.

“Look at you, fuck,” Stacker carries on, dropping his head back against the pillow and gazing up at Herc with something that looked like reverence. “So gorgeous…”

As he speaks, he wraps a broad, warm palm around Herc’s straining cock, squeezing gently before he starts to stroke.

In an embarrassingly short amount of time, Herc is starting to pant for breath, scrambling about on top of Stacker, needing more.

“That’s… oh fuck! I can’t take much more!”

“No? You need to cum? You ask permission from your Marshal, first.”

“Please! Please let me cum.” Herc is shameless, cheeks flushed with needing it, vision so blurry that he can barely see.

“Hmmmmm,” Stacker murmurs in consideration, hand still pumping Herc’s cock, precum making it just slick enough. “Rub your nipples for me.”

Herc grabs them without hesitation, tugging hard. His cock throbs at the feeling and he whines, high and thin.

“Come on, Ranger, harder,” Stacker’s growl makes Herc shiver so hard he almost falls off him. Stacker braces his chest with his free hand, fingers splayed along Herc’s sternum.

“Make yourself cum!” The command is barked to him, and fuck… fuck…

As Herc moans, Stacker sits up again to nip at his chest, then lifts his head to kiss his jaw, growling into his ear.

“Cum for me, Ranger!”

“OH GOD! YES! FUCK YES!” Herc thrusts into his fist once, twice more, before he cums all over it. Stacker grabs his ass with his free hand and grinds Herc down even harder, his own hips starting to stutter under him.

Once he’s spent, Herc leans down to wrap his arms around Stacker’s shoulders and buries his face in his neck, kissing at his sweaty skin.

“Come on, babe. Come on. Let me feel you.”

He peels Stacker’s fly down, then sits up on his knees and urges him to lift his hips so he can get his trousers off. His cock, when it’s finally bare, is perfect, long, thick, and hard, and Herc is all too eager to settle back against it once more.

Stackers moans into his hair as he rolls his hips up, his cock rubbing across Herc’s hole, and fuck it’s tempting but there’s no damn lube...

Herc spits into his palm and reaches back to stroke him instead. The angle is a little awkward, but he loves the press of Stacker’s cock against his ass, almost as much as he loves watching the blatant pleasure on his face.

“Mmmm, you feel incredible. God why the hell didn’t we do this sooner? Could have been shagging you for years. Fuck, you’re so big! God, look at you… you gonna cum? Come on, cum for me…”

Stacker’s eyes drift shut as he bites at his lip, then an expression of pure, sated bliss crosses his face as he cums, cock pulsing all over Herc’s back, his ass, his hand. Seemingly exhausted, Stacker doesn’t open his eyes again, even after his hips stop thrusting.

Finally catching his breath at last, Herc manages to clean them both, albeit haphazardly, with his long-discarded t-shirt. Once they’re both something that resembles a very loose version of clean, he throws an arm over Stacker’s chest and curls up at his side, following him into sleep.

*

When Herc wakes, the room is dark and he’s being treated to the delicious sensation of a broad palm stroking his ass, fingers slide down to brush his balls.

“Angling for round two?” he asks without opening his eyes, and Stacker kisses his shoulder, his ribcage, his back.

“Two. Three. Four…”

“Not a young man anymore,” Herc notes as he rolls over in response to Stacker’s hands tugging on his waist. His cock stirs from softness just being subjected to those warm, dark eyes, though, and it begins to thicken as Stacker moves down to kiss his thighs.

He’s just begun to lap at the jut of Herc’s left hipbone when bloody Chuck pounds on the door.

“OI! DAD! YA WANKER!”

Herc groans, but it’s Stacker who calls back.

“Unless the breach is active, please go away, Ranger Hansen.”

“WHAT THE FUCK?! MARSHAL IS THAT YOU?! OH, WHAT THE GODDAMN FUCK IS THIS SHIT??!!”

“PISS OFF, YOU LITTLE SHIT!” Herc yells, trying to encourage Stacker’s head back down. “C’mon, babe…”

But Stacker comes to a decision and slides off the bed, and for one half-horrified, half-impressed moment, Herc thinks he’s going to go to the door and tell Chuck to fuck off into next week in all his gorgeously naked glory. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately for Chuck – not that Herc gives a flying fuck about his son right at this second – Stacker instead holds out a hand to Herc and gestures towards the bathroom.

“Should be a bit more muffled in there?”

Herc laughs and keeps on laughing, even as Chuck, now howling obscenities, seems to start trying to kick the door in.

They wind up in the shower together, Herc pressed between Stacker and the wall as those big hands roam his soapy, wet skin.

“You’re a tease,” Herc growls into his lover’s ear, as fingers seem intent on exploring every inch his ass.

“Am not. Just making sure you’re all clean.”

“S’good of you,” Herc mumbles against his throat, letting his teeth scrape over as much skin as he can. “Yeah… fuck… feels good…”

“You feel amazing,” Stacker tells him, kneading his ass, and Herc really can’t fathom how, but who is he to argue with his boss?

He’s not a particularly patient man, however, and although Stacker’s dirty talk and roving hands are hot as fuck, Herc wants the show on the road.

He pulls back and is down on his knees, eagerly swiping fingertips over the head of Stacker’s hardening cock before the other man seems to know what’s hit him. Stacker cottons on quick as Herc starts licking at the tender flesh, however.

“Now that’s a pretty sight.”

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” Herc murmurs, shooting a glance up at him. “Never done this before.”

Stacker opens his mouth to say something in response, but just ends up moaning instead, his eyelids fluttering as Herc starts to work the head of his cock with the flat of his tongue.

“Fuck, oh… God… that’s perfect, love. Feels amazing. Just… ah!”

He cries out as Herc properly takes him in his mouth, suckling hard for a long moment before he settles for swirling his tongue around the head.

Herc wasn’t sure what Stacker had been about to say, so he just decided it probably didn’t matter and kept playing, trying out the things he himself enjoys having done to him.

“Herc…” Stacker mumbles, after a long moment, his big hands slid through Herc’s wet hair. “Herc, stop.”

Herc pulls off, licking his lips and shaking water from his face.

“Bad?”

“No,” Stacker chuckles, reaching down to gather him in his arms and drag him to his feet, pulling him against his wet body. “Perfect. But if I’d let you keep going, I was going to cum. And I don’t want to cum yet.”

The heat in his voice makes Herc shudder in anticipation and he winds his arms around Stacker’s neck, enjoying the feel of his body, the press of their cocks together. They rock against each other, and he gasps into Stacker’s neck.

“Fine by me, I’m not the one paying the water bill.”

“Put your legs around me,” Stacker mumbles in response, grabbing his ass and hoisting him up before Herc can even process his request.

Scrambling to do as he’s told, Herc whines in delight as he’s pressed back against the shower wall, Stacker’s hips continuing to rut against him. He gets his legs wrapped around Stacker’s waist, then reaches up to grab the top of the shower wall to support himself.

“You are so fucking hot,” he tells Stacker, dropping one hand to wrap around both of their cocks. Stacker groans into his chest, one hand bracing Herc’s ass while the other clenches in a fist against the wall. Herc turns his head and sucks on the thin skin of his wrist as he strokes them both.

Stacker loses control first, groaning into Herc’s chest as his warm cum coats them both, hips canting helplessly as he fucks Herc’s fist. He sinks to his knees slowly, gently lowering Herc to the shower floor, water already rinsing away the evidence his pleasure.

Herc rubs himself shamelessly, pumping his cock and pinching one of his nipples, and Stackers kneels between his spread legs and watches for a long moment before he leans closer.

“Cum on my tongue,” the command is simple, and it takes Herc all of five seconds to comply. He shoots so hard and fast into Stacker’s open, waiting mouth that he feels his soul transcend his body. Stacker swallows down what he catches on his tongue, then brushes Herc’s hand aside and sucks his pulsing cock clean.

Herc can’t cum again any time soon, but fuck does his body want to try at just the sight of Stacker’s head between his legs.

They run out of hot water before they manage to use the shower for its actual purpose, but Herc’s too busy laughing. Once Stacker gives up and shuts the cold stream of water off, he can hear Chuck still having his fight with the door.

*

Two Kaiju? Fuck.

Chuck, who hasn’t spoken to his father all day, is still bitchfacing as they get into their gear and start the Drift sequence.

Belatedly, Herc wonders what the Drift will show his son, and tries to keep the smirk from his face. He can’t help but laugh at the look of incredulous contempt Chuck sends his way, though.

“Jesus Christ, Dad! I fuckin’ hate you!”

Laughing even harder, Herc lets the memory of the shower float away.

Fifteen minutes later, he doesn’t think he’ll laugh again for a long time.

Stacker is angry, but Herc is angrier and Striker is moving in to rescue their fellow Jaegers, whether the boss likes it or not.

But before they can even get in range to help Typhoon, the Wei triplets are screaming, then they’re gone.

Chuck’s fear bleeds through the Drift, followed by his anger. A great Jaeger team killed so quick and easy.

Then Cherno goes down, the Kaidanovskys drowning, burning, killed, and Herc and his boy are alone against two Kaiju, with no time to waste giving in to the grief.

Aaaand they’re fucking offline before their missiles can strike.

The Kaiju circle outside the dead Jaeger before one scuttles off towards the completely unprotected city. Herc’s so desperate to keep the second from following thar almost costs him his bloody arm.

It’s a stupid idea, the flares, but it works well enough, more thanks to Raleigh and Mako than anything else.

Herc watches Gypsy do her thing and feels Chuck’s excitement and joy spike as he cheers Raleigh and Mako on, hostility forgotten. It stays forgotten, even when Herc is shaking Raleigh and Mako’s hands back at the Dome, proud and relieved and grateful, his bad arm in a sling.

Chuck hovers at the back, uncertain, and Herc wants to haul him forward, make him apologise, but the crowd is parting for Stacker.

His eyes flick briefly over Herc, and yeah… he’s in trouble.

*

Herc’s dozing on his bed a few hours later, stress making the needed sleep impossible, when the source of his anguish taps at his door. He takes his sweet time letting Stacker in, and that probably adds to the tension in the Marshal’s shoulders, to the angry set of his mouth.

“You defied a direct order, Ranger.”

“Yes.” Herc is unrepentant. “If there was a way to save them, I had to try.”

“You could have been killed!” Stacker is agitated, starts pacing about the room before Herc’s even shut the door.

“Yes,” Herc says, locking it and turning to face him. “Always, every drop. That’s been reality for a very long time, Sir.”

“I could have lost you.” Stacker is in his face so quick, looming over him, that Herc steps back a little. “The mission, Striker… you… I could have lost the only hope I have left.”

“Be sure to thank Becket and Mako again, then.”

“You disobeyed me -” He shuts up when Herc presses forward, kisses him, then growls in defeat into his mouth and grabs Herc by the hips.

“I’m still mad.”

“’K.” Herc lets his lips brush down his neck. “You waste your time and energy being mad, then. I, on the other hand, am going to take the opportunity to very much enjoy being alive. I could have died today, you know.”

“You’re not funny,” Stacker tells him, but he lets himself be backed up and pushed onto the bed, and even watches in interest when Herc shucks off his shirt and reaches into his bedside drawer. He even manages to laugh when Herc brandishes the bottle of lube he’d stolen from medical in his face.

Then Herc is being divested of the rest of his clothes and eased down gently onto the sheets, Stacker being far more gentle and careful of his arm than Herc wants. Herc’s so high on painkillers, endorphins, and the anticipation that he barely notices it. He can’t support himself easily enough on his knees though, so Stacker lays him on back, and Herc finally gets those shoulders under his thighs.

The path Stacker takes down Herc’s body is torturously slow, but the eventual warmth of his mouth on Herc’s cock is so sinfully perfect. It’s not long before Herc’s panting with his good arm thrown over his eyes and has to push him off. Stacker doesn’t seem to mind, takes to opportunity to work his way even lower, kissing, licking, stroking, until one lubed finger is sliding in and _fuck_.

The stretch is… new, but Herc’s hole was already made wet and loose from Stacker’s tongue, and his nerves sing at the sensation of being worked open.

Above him, Stacker watches his face, his eyes gentle, voice a low murmur.

“Breathe for me, love. Relax.”

Herc does, tries. It’s weird but not bad, just… a lot. But as Stacker’s finger rubs and crooks and presses, it starts to feel better and better. One particular drag has Herc’s body shuddering, his cock jerking helplessly, and Stacker kisses the cry of pleasure from his lips.

Then a second finger joins, easing in slow, and Herc starts to wriggle down on them as they work him. 

“Babe…” Herc mumbles, feeling flushed and tingling all over, as his body starts to ache so sweetly and everything feels like it’s coiling, curling up, building, burning. Panting, he glances down and sees his cock is red and hard and bouncing in time to his thumping pulse. Stacker ignores it though, in favour of adding a third finger, the knuckles of his free hand rubbing under Herc’s balls.

“Babe,” Herc tries again, as those thick fingers begin to fuck him in earnest, pumping in and out of his hole, pressing his prostate every time. “Babe…”

“Gonna cum from just my fingers in your ass?” Stacker mumbles into his neck, said fingers pressing and circling. “Or do you want my cock?”

Herc makes a very undignified noise at just the thought. He babbles something incoherent and needy that Stacker thankfully understands to be consent, because he tugs his fingers free – Herc cries out – and replaces them with the blunt, wet tip of his cock – Herc cries out again.

He wraps his good arm around Stacker’s neck so he can get another kiss, and Stacker presses in deep as he leans down, both of them gasping into each other’s mouths.

Stacker is far noisier than Herc expected, groaning in delight with every thrust. It makes Herc want to respond, but his shit of a kid is in the room next door, and there are some boundaries Herc just won’t cross.

He moves as much as he can, instead, rolling his hips down to meet Stacker’s, clenching his teeth around his shoulder, stroking spasming fingers over Stacker’s spine as the thrusts start to come faster, deeper, harder.

“Oh fucking… you feel so… oh God, so good,” Stacker grits out into his ear, and Herc fights not to cum just from how wrecked he sounds.

As it is, Stacker lets go first, his thrusts losing rhythm for a moment before he’s suddenly moving so hard and fast, slamming home into Herc.

He gasps out, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” as he cums, back arching, hips pressing in tight and then Herc feels the slightly peculiar sensation of being filled, warm and thick.

Stacker’s still panting as he slides slowly out, kisses Herc again, then lays his head on his hip and leans over to take his cock in his mouth. A few moments of the sweet pressure, combined with his big, warm hand sliding up and down the rest, is all Herc needs.

Despite his resolve to be quiet, he lets out a long shout of pleasure when he finally cums.

There’s a suspicious thump on the other side of the wall, as if something heavy got thrown at it, and Herc’s pretty sure he can hear a very familiar enraged howl.

Shifting over until he’s pressed to Stacker’s chest, Herc decides he really doesn’t care. Chuck can get wrecked.

It’s the end of the world, after all; at least Herc has one last perfect and beautiful night to remember as he goes to his grave.

*

Six hours later and Stacker’s destroyed _everything_.

“The answer is no.” Stacker is firm, resolute. “It’s impossible, Herc. You know it. Without use of both arms, you can’t pilot -”

“My son is 21-years-old. Just 21! I’m begging you. You have _got_ to ground him. Without Cherno and Typhoon…”

“It’s more and more likely to be a suicide mission,” Stacker finishes for him, nodding in agreement.

“You can’t do this. Please!” Herc knows he’s crying, can’t stop, feelings of uselessness and hopelessness crashing over him. His baby, his boy, his _son_ … it wasn’t supposed to be _him_. It was supposed to be Herc.

Stacker tries to take him in his arms but Herc won’t let him, backs away, shoves his hands away for good measure.

“You do this, and I’ll never forgive you.”

“I promise you; I’ll do everything I can to get him back to you.”

It’s not enough. Herc leaves Stacker in his office and goes back to his room, sits on the sheets still unmade from last night, and waits.

*

Stacker. His friend. His love.

His son. His boy. 21-years-old.

Blown to pieces at the bottom of the ocean. No bodies, no ashes, no trace. At one with the sea.

Herc closes his eyes against the pain.

It doesn’t help.

LOCCENT erupts into cheers. The clock stops.

It doesn’t help.

*

The world celebrates; Raleigh and Mako are safe and the breach is closed. It’s over.

In the immediate aftermath, there are parades, fireworks, music, happiness, relief.

Herc keeps away from it, as much as he can, lets Raleigh and Mako take centre-stage, receive the accolades, the recognition, the hero worship that they deserve. He gives a few statements, generic and short, can’t match Stacker’s commanding gaze or quiet authority, can’t replicate Chuck’s passion, his heart.

He retires as soon as the Shatterdome no longer needs him – it’s quick, a few short goodbyes and he’s on the tarmac and clambering into a chopper, Max in a carry cage and everything he has left packed into a single duffle.

*

Herc buys a cottage on the coast, not too far a drive from Sydney. He’ll be safe enough on the cliff overlooking the peninsula, and can keep an eye on the sea, just in case.

Chuck’s a part of the sea. Stacker’s a part of the sea.

After Herc gets settled in, Raleigh and Mako visit every few months, and the three of them sit on his porch and share a bottle of wine and reminisce as they watch the water, the ebb and flow of the tides, the horizon.

Raleigh, Herc can tell, is getting thinner and thinner.

Around 10 months after the breach was closed, Mako starts coming alone, trepidation in her eyes, forcing herself to laugh quietly about how odd it feels to be away from her partner.

*

Almost to the day of the first anniversary of Herc losing everything, Mako calls, but cannot speak.

Herc runs to his car so quick, he doesn’t even shut his front door.

He pilots the chopper from the almost fully abandoned Sydney dome himself, leaving Max with an old J-tech friend.

He doesn’t make it in time.

“Four hours ago…” Tendo’s face is ice white, his eyes red, when he meets Herc off the chopper at the Hong Kong Shatterdome.

Mako’s in the medical bay curled up on Raleigh’s chest, sobbing. Herc lifts her off him so he can finally be taken away. She doesn’t fight him, but she screams.

Herc doesn’t look at the body of his friend, can’t, won’t. There’s no point.

Raleigh’s long gone.

*

Herc returns to his little cottage after the funeral and seeing to it that Raleigh’s ashes are scattered off the coast of Anchorage, where they estimate Yancy had been taken from them.

He walks through his front door, drops his bag and heads straight out onto his porch, Max at his heels.

A bottle of whiskey in hand, he pours a drink for Raleigh. Another for Stacker. Another for his son, his boy.

Herc watches the water. Just in case. He waits.

He closes his eyes.

Thinks of Raleigh and how grateful he feels, how sorry he is, promises to try and look after Mako.

He forgives Stacker.

He tells his son he loves him.

It doesn’t help.


End file.
